


Kill the Bad Guy, Rescue the Damsel in Distress, Save the World

by TaleasOldasTimeandSpace



Series: Fairy Tales and Hokum [10]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Connor suffers, Crack, F/M, FLYNN VERSUS THE SANDSTORM, FLYYYY me to Hamunaptra and let me PLAAAAY among the SAAAAAAAND, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Flynn Has the Time of His Life, Jiya Gets By, Lucy Suffers, Rufus Suffers, The Mummy AU, but hey it makes for entertaining reading, garcy, that way only leads to tears, the author does not advised attempting to fly a plane with no training whatsoever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 04:53:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20076457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaleasOldasTimeandSpace/pseuds/TaleasOldasTimeandSpace
Summary: Our heroes make a new friend, gets some new wheels - er, wings - and are BACK IN BUSINESS





	Kill the Bad Guy, Rescue the Damsel in Distress, Save the World

It was a weary and decidedly worn-at-the-edges group that straggled into the airfield outside Cairo the next morning. Wy’att’s influence had faded once he left the city, and the sun beat relentlessly on their heads as if the past day had never happened. That didn’t mean that any of them wanted to risk going back into the city to retrieve Jiya’s car. Just because the sun was shining didn’t mean there weren’t still zombies lurking in the shadows, waiting to tear them limb-from-limb.

Madam Christopher, of course, wasn’t a woman to let a little thing like the threat of homicidal zombies dictate her actions. Once she saw them safely to the outskirts of Cairo, she promptly turned around and plunged back into the sewers, muttering about toppled library shelves and how she was always cleaning up after people with no respect for history as she disappeared around a corner.

It rather sounded like she hadn’t quite forgiven Lucy for her little mess yet. Well, once they got her back (because they  _ would _ get her back, anything else was unacceptable), she could do all the groveling necessary to return Madam Christopher to an amicable mood.

Speaking of groveling, Rufus and Flynn had been treading with extreme caution around her since she yelled at them in the sewers. Deep down, she knew she wasn’t being fair to them—Rufus was worried about saving the world, and Flynn was almost as frantic about Lucy as she was. While she’d felt marginally better at the time, venting her grief on her companions did little to soothe her own guilt. Lucy was still gone, and they had all been powerless to stop it. 

She shook her head, trying to rattle the defeat from her spirit and the cobwebs from her mind. Just because she’d had little-to-no sleep in the last twenty-four hours was no reason to succumb to despair. Sleep was for the weak, and she had a sister and a world to save. She could sleep when Wy’att was dead. 

…re-dead? Un-undead? 

She shook her head again. Sleep might be for the weak, but that didn’t mean she was at all conscious enough to parse the appropriate terminology for defeating their mummy.

‘Jiya?’ Flynn’s voice was unusually hesitant. ‘You okay?’

‘I’m—’ She was interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. ‘—fine.’ She squinted at him. He looked as exhausted as she felt. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘You keep shaking your head. Didn’t know if you were getting another vision, or…’ He trailed off, shrugging helplessly.

He really was trying, the poor monument. She graced him with a bleary smile. ‘Just tired. I can barely see straight, let alone See.’

He didn’t look reassured; if anything, his concern deepened. ‘Are you sure? We can stop if you need to. Lucy would never forgive me if I let you collapse trying to get her back.’

She flapped her hand at him. ‘I’m  _ fine, _ Flynn. Really. I just need to get my second wind.’ Really, it was more like her third or fourth wind, but that was beside the point. Flynn looked ready to insist she take a nap right there on the sand, which simply wouldn’t do. It wasn’t like Wy’att was cooling his heels somewhere in the desert, waiting for them to catch up before enacting his dastardly plot. She jabbed a finger at the airfield sign. ‘Oh look, we’re here. Rufus, where’s this friend of yours?’

The Medjai pointed to a small hill, where a man sat, sipping tea and gazing at the desert. ‘Just…wait here for a second. And let me do the talking, okay?’

Flynn looked mildly offended as they watched Rufus approach his friend. ‘What does he think I’m going to do, yell and chase him into the desert?’

Jiya let herself lean into his arm. ‘You  _ are _ a little intense.’

‘Only a little? Now I’m definitely insulted.’

They shared a tired chuckle as Rufus’ friend swept him up in a hug so strong the warrior chief’s feet left the ground. Watching them sent a pang through Jiya, and she leaned a little harder into Flynn. ‘Tell me we’ll get her back.’

He shifted to wrap his arm around her shoulders. ‘We’ll get her back,’ he said, no hesitation whatsoever. ‘And you know Lucy. She’s likely to have rescued herself by the time we work out a ride.’

That was, surprisingly enough, quite comforting, and when Rufus waved them forward to introduce them to his friend and former mentor, Connor Mason, she was able to shake hands with a genuine smile.

‘Rufus tells me you’re having an issue with transportation?’ Connor asked when he had them ensconced in the shade of one of the outbuildings. He’d taken one look at Jiya, clucked his tongue, declared, ‘You look a trifle peaked, my dear,’ and insisted on tea all around before getting to business.

Flynn nodded as Jiya happily accepted the tin mug Connor passed her. ‘That’s right. We need to be across the desert as soon as possible.’

‘In that case, camels are right out. As are cars. Your best bet would be a plane.’

Jiya choked on her tea, a burn that had nothing to do with temperature raging down her throat.  _ ‘What _ is _ that?’ _ she demanded, eyeing her cup in deep betrayal.

‘I told you, tea.’ He took a long drink and sighed in contentment.

Rufus took a cautious sip and started coughing. ‘That’s not tea,’ he wheezed. ‘What’s  _ in _ that?’

‘Just tea. With a little honey.’ He grinned, pulling a flask from his jacket and tilting its contents into his cup. ‘And a little something else Abdul and I distilled behind the main hanger.’

Flynn set his empty mug on the table. ‘It’s a little weak. Can you help us or not?’

‘My good man, you may have your pick of the planes on this field. Personally, I’d recommend the Mason MI36 Calrissian,’ he added, pointing to a small biplane. ‘Light, maneuverable, seating for two, plus a machine gun in the back in case you run into your baddie sooner than expected. It’s the transportation of the future, really.’ He smirked. ‘Not to mention it was designed by a genius, so you really can’t go wrong.’

Jiya eyed the plane dubiously, then turned to Flynn. ‘Will that be able to carry all of us?’

He shrugged. ‘We might have to tie a couple of us on the wings, but we can make it work.’

‘I’m sorry, did you say  _ tie  _ us to the  _ wings?’ _ Rufus’ voice went slightly squeaky, which really was an unfortunate affliction for a man of his position.

‘Obviously.’ Flynn’s smile was positively evil in its blandness. ‘We’d get tired if we were just hanging on.’

Honestly, it didn’t sound any worse than some of the stunts they’d pulled the last few weeks, and if it got them to Lucy faster… ‘I think it sounds like fun,’ Jiya offered.

Rufus glared at her. ‘You would.’

She heroically resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

‘Surely no more than one?’ Connor swirled the “tea” in his cup. ‘Even if you all go, it’s one in the back, one on the wing, and the pilot.’

Flynn turned that bland smile on him. ‘Two on the wings. You’re our pilot.’

Now it was Connor’s turn to choke. ‘I’m sorry,  _ what?!’ _

Rufus frowned at him. ‘Well, yeah. None of us know how to fly, and you’re the genius engineer.’

_ ‘Engineer, _ not  _ pilot. _ Do you have any idea how  _ dangerous _ those things are?’

Jiya blinked. ‘Are you saying that you  _ make _ planes but haven’t ever  _ flown _ in one? What happened to “transportation of the future?”’

Connor slammed down his mug, tea and moonshine sloshing all over the table. ‘IT’S A BLOODY DEATH TRAP, THAT’S WHAT.’

‘Wow, great, I feel  _ so _ much better about all of this,’ Jiya said, pinching the bridge of her nose. ‘Thanks for that.’

Rufus jumped to his feet. ‘Obviously this was a mistake. It’s fine, we’ll figure out another way to get to Hamunaptra.’

Flynn reached out and tugged him back into his seat. ‘There  _ is _ no other way. Not if we want to get there in time. So I  _ suggest, _ Mr. Mason, that you get over your fear of heights and put that genius intellect of yours to work. The fate of the world depends on it.’

‘No pressure there, then,’ Connor muttered. ‘And it’s not a fear of heights, it’s a healthy dose of common sense. Something you are clearly lacking.’

‘Just so,’ Flynn agreed cheerfully. ‘I’ll go make sure the machine gun’s loaded.’

* * *

‘I’d like to take this opportunity to point out that this is a very bad idea and we’re all going to die.’

At Rufus’ dour prediction, Jiya glanced up from the makeshift harness they were assembling out of bits of discarded canvas and leather in the meager shade of one of the hangers. He was glaring out at the Calrissian, where Flynn was displaying an entirely Flynn-like familiarity with the machine gun and Connor was studying a flight manual and cursing loud enough to be heard across the entire Nile Delta. This, she decided, was as good a time as any to make that peace offering and reached over to pat him on the arm. ‘You’ll be fine, Rufus. Just pretend you’re in  _ Around the World in Eighty Days.’ _

He blinked. ‘You’ve read Jules Verne?’

‘Of course I have.’ As if it was strange for her to be the one reading scientific fiction and not, say, the doctoral-student-turned-chief-of-a-mysterious-desert-tribe whose life was ripped straight from the pages of such fiction. ‘I mean, I prefer H.G. Wells, but Verne is fun, too.’

‘H.G. Wells?’ He shot to his feet. ‘That  _ hack? _ I’m sorry Jiya, but we can’t be friends anymore.’

Jiya watched him sling his harness over his shoulder and stalk to the plane. ‘We’re friends?’

‘Not  _ now, _ obviously.’

So much for peace offerings.

Well, be that way. She’d tried. Next time,  _ he  _ could make the friendly gestures. She hefted her own harness and followed.

Connor glared down at them from his perch in the pilot’s seat. ‘I’d like to take this opportunity to reiterate that you’re all insane and we’re going to die.’

Rufus gestured emphatically to the pilot-in-training.  _ ‘Thank _ you.’

‘Nobody’s going to die.’ Flynn didn’t look up from the machine gun. ‘Except for Wy’att, of course, but he’s technically dead already, so he doesn’t count.’ 

Connor shook his head. ‘You need better friends, Rufus.’

‘That’s what  _ I _ keep saying,’ Rufus muttered.

Flynn ignored him, leaning over the side to address Jiya. ‘You sure you’ll be alright on the wing? Lucy would never forgive me if I let something happen to you.’

‘Lucy’s got her own problems. I’ll be fine.’ He raised an eyebrow, and she snorted. ‘Really. This makes the most sense, anyway. I’m not nearly as good with a machine gun as you are, and if we put you and Rufus on the wings, the imbalance would send us into a permanent barrel-roll.’

Rufus crossed his arms. ‘He’s not  _ that _ much taller than me!’

‘And besides,’ Jiya continued, blithely ignoring him, ‘I can’t let you have all the fun.’

‘Well then.’ Flynn smiled, wide and deadly. ‘Let’s go save the world.’

* * *

Sand, Lucy decided as she landed face-first in a dune, was the absolute worst. Even Emma’s outraged squawk as the other woman splattered in a graceless pile next to her did little to improve her mood.

Wy’att, in his infinite wisdom, had decided the best way to transport the three of them across the desert was to transform himself into a miniature sandstorm. Every inch of exposed skin was scraped raw from the endlessly whirling grains. ‘You’d think he’d want to keep me in a little better condition,’ she muttered, flopping on her back to squint at the cloudless sky. ‘I doubt Jeska will thank him for shoving her in a body covered in sand burn.’

‘I think he forgets we’re not all indestructible ex-mummies,’ said Emma, surprisingly companionable. Maybe hurtling through the desert in an oversized dust devil was a bonding experience. ‘Buck up, princess,’ she added, whacking Lucy on an already-sore arm. ‘Pretty soon you won’t have to worry about sand burn. Or much of anything.’ Never mind, there was the Emma she knew and loathed.

This time, the sight of Hamunaptra, grinning at her through the shimmering heat, filled her only with dread. Dread, tinged with the slightest hint of exasperation. Once this was all over, she would be perfectly happy to never see those awful ruins again.

Emma strolled up next to her, dusting off her clothes as she walked. ‘Hard to believe we’re back already, huh? Sandstorm might not be the most comfortable way to travel, but it sure is quick. I bet the only faster way to cross the desert would be in a plane.’ She cocked her head to the side, frowning. ‘You hear something?’

Lucy was ready to tell Emma to shut up and leave her alone (or possible just tackle her to the ground and strangle her) when she heard it too—the sound of a motor. She turned to look back the way they’d come and there, high above the sand, was a small plane. It was barely a speck against the implacable sky, but she knew without a doubt who it carried. Relief filled her. Relief, and a joy so fierce the force of it sent her to her knees. ‘Jiya.’ Tears made muddy trails on her dusty skin. ‘Rufus.’ She took a shuddering breath.  _ ‘Garcia,’ _ she whispered, and smiled.

Emma grunted. ‘Huh. Are we sure Flynn’s not the immortal one? I know he’s always been hard to kill, but this is getting ridiculous.’ 

Lucy ignored her, grinning as she watched the plane’s progress. Not even Emma’s spite could dampen her spirits now. They were here. They’d  _ survived. _

They might just save the world after all.

‘Hey, Wy’att, you might want to take care of those party-crashers if you ever want to see your girlfriend again.’

Emma’s words made Wy’att look back with a frown. As soon as he saw the plane, he muttered a string of words that definitely hadn’t featured in her Ancient Egyptian studies and twisted his fingers at the desert.

The sand came  _ alive. _

* * *

‘Have I mentioned how very much I HATE SAND?’ Rufus’ voice could barely be heard over the roar of the engine and the howling of the wind.

The storm had come out of nowhere. One moment they were in sight of Hamunaptra, the next a wall of sand erupted from the desert floor and bore down on them. Connor did his best to outrun it, but his fledgling pilot skills were no match for a storm determined to swallow them whole.

And determined it was. It said something of her recent experiences that Jiya was only mildly astonished when the sand formed itself into a gigantic face, one that smirked at them as it quickly closed the distance. Not even Flynn shouting in what Jiya assumed was Yugoslavian and firing the machine gun into the storm did anything to deter it.

Not that she thought it would, but she imagined it made him feel better.

As the sand hit, she put her head down and squeezed her eyes shut behind her goggles, concentrating on holding on and praying her harness wouldn’t break.

* * *

‘Stop it! You’re going to kill them!’

Emma smirked over her shoulder. ‘That’s the idea, princess,’ she said, and, oh, Lucy was definitely going to kill her.

Wy’att didn’t even turn, his entire focus on the storm and the tiny, achingly fragile plane caught within. If she could just  _ distract _ him, maybe they would make it. But how to distract a three-thousand-year-old homicidal mummy bent on mayhem?

Her first thought, which she blamed entirely on her lack of sleep, was to kiss him. He seemed to find her attractive enough, if his past attempt was anything to go by, and it might be just enough to do the trick. But…

Did she  _ have _ to? It had been bad enough the first time, and while yes, he was fully regenerated, kissing a mummy was a scarring experience. One she wasn’t eager to repeat.

Her eyes darted between Wy’att, Emma, and the plane, searching for ideas. It was starting to look like she would have to close her eyes and think of Garcia, when her gaze caught on the pistol stuffed in the waistband of Emma’s trousers.

Oh, that was a  _ much _ better option.

She snatched the gun before Emma could react and emptied it into Wy’att’s back.

* * *

The storm dissipated almost as quickly as it had sprung up. In the absence of the wind, the plane’s engine by itself was almost quiet.

Then Connor swore and hit his instrument panel, and she realized it was quiet because the engine had, in fact, stopped running. ‘Hang on, we’re going down!’

He managed to wrestle the plane into something of a controlled glide, but they still slammed into a dune harder than she was strictly comfortable with. She was grateful for the harness. Without it, she would have gone skipping across the sand, probably breaking several bones, if not her neck.

They took a moment to breathe.

‘Everyone alright?’ Flynn asked.

Rufus groaned something that sounded vaguely affirmative, and Jiya croaked out her own assent as she started struggling out of her harness. Connor was silent, slumped forward in the pilot’s seat.

‘Connor?’ Flynn tried again.

‘You killed Bessie.’

She paused in her efforts. ‘Who?’ 

‘The plane. Bessie. She's never going to fly again, and it's all your fault.'

She twisted in her harness to look at Flynn, who looked as baffled as she felt. ‘Did you want us to, ah, give her a hero's burial?' he asked. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he shrugged. She wasn't as fluent in Flynnish as Lucy was, but she was fairly certain that was a  _ what am I  _ supposed  _ to say? _ shrug.

Connor waved a listless hand. ‘There's no time, not if you want to save your lady friend.'

‘She's a professor, actually,' Flynn interjected, but Jiya could see his pleased blush.

‘Just do me a favor and the next time you get the urge to go on a suicide mission, find another gullible idiot to be your pilot.'

‘I wasn't planning on a next time,' Flynn said mildly, and Connor turned to glare at him.

‘When it comes to people like you, Flynn,’ he said, his voice bitter, ‘there's always a next time.'

**Author's Note:**

> Bessie's full name is The Nonpareil Miss Bessie Smith. It was going to be the King of the Delta Blues, but Robert Johnson didn't make his record until 1936, so...  
I was also going to use the plane from the movie, a De Havilland DH Tiger Moth, but they weren't made until the 1930s (and I'm ALL about that Historical Accuracy :D), and my alternative, the Sopwith Camel, was notoriously difficult to fly. I may be mean to Connor, but I'm not THAT mean. And while I've come to understand that Winston wanted a hero's death, twelve-year-old Tale was always sad that he didn't make it. Thus, in this purely self-indulgent piece of fiction, EVERYBODY LIVES  
(except, y'know, Wy'att. And Emma. And assorted secondary characters. But everybody we care about lives.)  
Come say hi on [tumblr](https://taleasoldastime-andspace.tumblr.com/)!


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